


Black Roses and Card Sharps

by AttunedAccord



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, League of Legends
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-29
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-02 23:23:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1062889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AttunedAccord/pseuds/AttunedAccord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leader of the Black Rose LeBlanc and card sharp Twisted Fate go back a long way, and Ezreal Harry Potter’s struggle for survival is told. This is a tale of deceit, war, love, death and the League of Legends.  (A League of Legends and Harry Potter crossover) Harem, violence, and other warnings...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Rite of Passage

“Dr. Rath, patient seven-hundred ninety two has emerged from surgery and will be conscious in thirty seconds,” a scruffy neuroscientist called out.

Xavier Rath nodded, his unblemished white lab coat standing out amongst the grime that covered the experimental facility. Eyes flickering downwards, he was already mixing the next solution, tweaking ingredients and adjusting reagents to create a new formula. No point waiting when seven-hundred and ninety experiments had failed. No, better to press ahead and streamline the process.

He grinned, pulling out a beaker containing some specially brewed Shimmer, pouring a decent load into the batch. The powerful emotional techmaturgy attached with the substance would hopefully carry through with the rest of the solution, although the results would be unclear. There was no point in determining what the projected fluid would do to a person, seeing as how he needed to get through a person at least once every half an hour or so.

“Awakening in five, four, three, two, one...” the neuroscientist reported, and just before he called the number ‘zero’, the eyes of a man stuck against a wall by numerous straps snapped open. Two cyan orbs pierced through the smoky room, shining, their harsh light cutting through to face him.

Xavier stepped back, quickly jotting down the eye color of his newest patient. Without taking his eyes off of patient seven-hundred ninety two, he called out: “I hope you’re satisfied with the results of the experiment. The exit is to your left.”

The man, although strapped against the wall, deftly moved his fingers and flicked his wrists. The bindings around his wrists fell off, and a smirk appeared on the man’s face. Shifting his hands into his pockets, a stream of cards soon spit out of his pockets, slicing through the remaining bonds on his upper body. With another agile motion, the man was free of the complex harness, with three cards in each hand.

A burst of smoke filled the room, obscuring everything from view as Xavier pulled a trigger, scampering down a hatch on the right side of the room, desperately clutching several overflowing vials of liquids. A few scientists and attendants in the room started towards the exit as well, but when a thudding noise signaled a card impaling itself straight into the back of one of them, they all stood still.

Crimson blood welled out of the wound, the scientist gasping in agony. Red tendrils of energy spiraled out from the card, and the scientist convulsed several times, before dropping to the ground, crippled. A mask of unmistakable coldness settled on the man’s face as he stood silently, quietly taking in the scene. 

“Please do tell me where Dr. Xavier Rath is,” the man growled, as if daring the others in the room to challenge him.

When no response was came, the man raised his right arm, and the people watched in horror as a card silently spun between his fingers. 

A stockier man, perhaps a left behind guard, spoke: “He operates on the East Bay, is where we are all in case you’re not from abouts here.” 

The man nodded, the card in his hand slowing to an abrupt stop. With a twist of his wrist, the cards disappeared from sight, and the man’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second. His pupils dilated, the blue glow from them permeating the air around him, making the world painfully bright to look at.

He stepped forwards uncertainly, seeing something beyond the room. He hesitated, as if not quite understanding, and then stepped forwards again. The others moved back, uncertain of whether he could still see, and a man tried to make for the escape hatch. Before anyone could react, a card shot out of the man’s left sleeve, accompanied by an arching motion to give it its velocity. Imbued with a blue tone, the card shattered on impact with the would-be escapee, maiming his arm with a deep jagged cut.

Then, with a blinding flash of light, he disappeared. A pile of cards floated down from the empty space where he had been, lazily drifting downwards, spreading outwards. The people in the room slowly made their way to the exit, glancing back every few seconds. 

***

Twisted Fate appeared in an overflowing sewer, a circle of cards lining his feet. He effortlessly bent down and flicked them into his various pockets, concealed and otherwise, before continuing to stride forwards. He had seen Dr. Xavier Rath for a few moments, right in this sewer, but as he was teleporting to this location, the doctor had escaped.

As he trudged through the slop on the ground, Twisted Fate couldn’t help but wonder what miserables concoction lay beneath him. These weren’t the pristinely filtered waters of Piltover, far from them. In Zaun, one couldn’t even stand in the rain without risking his welfare.

Finding a recently locked door to his left, Twisted Fate eyed it quickly, sizing up the lock. Reaching inside one of his jacket pockets, he fished out a set of odd looking metallic lock-picks. With one hand, he deftly maneuvered the picks in a formidable manner, a quick series of clicks sounding every few seconds. Finally, the door swung open, and he peered into the corridor beyond.

Four automatons stood guard, their copper plating and electrically charged hands gleaming. They stood silently, waiting, and Twisted Fate tentatively leaned forwards through the door. The automatons quickly swiveled to face him, and he moved back, but their attention was now on him.

No warning was given as they slowly advanced, wheeling forwards to block off the entrance to the corridor. Flicking his wrist, Twisted Fate pulled out a card from his sleeves, and launched it from is hand. It feebly flopped to the ground, despite it being charged with blue light. Backing off more, he grimaced as he realized that his anatomy had been changed some. Throws and sleight-of-hands that he used to effortlessly pull off now seemed off, and he had completely botched his last attempt.

Everything in life was a series of trade-offs, and here he realized the cost of the magic that now freely flowed through his veins. The natural gambler in him had seized the opportunity to gain magic, despite the low odds, and he had come away with this much. It wouldn’t do for him to waste the literal one-in-a-thousand power that he had received.

And all of sudden, Twisted Fate realized that the trade-off was perhaps less than he had originally assumed. While he had gotten some exercise in the past, he was certainly never as athletic as he was now. Perhaps the awkwardness with which he used his body was merely due to this change.

Trying again, another card flicked out and slammed into the closest automaton, a shower of blue sparks indicating where the card had landed. As the card landed, Twisted Fate felt the well from which he drew his power expanding slightly, a well that he drew out of whenever he empowered a card or teleported. The well slowly grew on its own, he had noted, but the natural regeneration would hardly be of use if he got into a fight.

The closest automaton was briefly slowed by the impact, a tear appearing in its armor, revealing the complex wiring beneath it, and Twisted Fate scowled. A barrage of cards surfaced, and he hurled them rapidly. Only one in every five or six were empowered, due to the sheer amount of focus necessary to empower a card. All the empowered cards he used were given a blue hue, which upon impact drew energy from the surroundings and transferred it to him.

Even without powers, he could have held off the four automatons, and they were reduced to shreds of metal and wiring within minutes. Their slow movements and unwillingness to leave a route open for him to get through meant that they could only progress on him slowly, and Twisted Fate had plenty of space to move back in while he fired card after card at the machines.

Stepping over the metallic mess he had created, Twisted Fate once more approached the corridor. The slick dark passageway curved down to the right, blocking its end from his line of sight, and he cautiously proceeded. The power that let him view others and teleport couldn’t quite be reached at the moment- it slipped out of his grasp every time he tried to access it, but it grew closer and less distant by the second.

He continued down the path, carefully stepping, scanning for any potential traps. The roughly hewn stone steps served for uneven footing, as if someone had deliberately constructed the steps with the aim of throwing people off. He fired a mass of cards down the corridor, and was rewarded with the scent of a noxious fume.

After quickly backing off, Twisted Fate flung a card into the gas, and watched as it withered into a pile of ash. He sprinted back, watching the ominous grey cloud slowly diffuse through the air, slowly losing its color as the gas lost concentration. Reaching the sewer once again, Twisted Fate tossed another card into the gas, and watched as it held its form for several minutes before crumbling into ash as well. 

Twisted Fate leaned against the brick sewer walls, tossing a pair of loaded dice through the air, always positioning it so that it landed with snake eyes. A waiting game that he had long since perfected, he then proceeded to toss straight sixes, a task just about as difficult as throwing the ones. He watched with his peculiar gaze at the murky clouds of gas until a card that he threw in was unscathed after ten minutes.

There was no rush, no hurry, and Twisted Fate calmly strode down the hallway again, steadily making his way downwards. No more traps seemed to be hidden, no more guards or people to overcome, and it was just him and the darkness as he walked alone. His eyes dimly lit up the winding passageway, revealing the fatalistic runes inscribed on the walls.

Runes that told stories of death and destruction, of Rune Wars long gone, histories of creatures so terrible that man was all too keen on forgetting about them. Very few could read the runic language now, and Twisted Fate was no exception. In fact, he was only semi-literate, having never gotten a proper education. He had no need for one, with his street smarts.

Finally, a faint light appeared at the end of the hallway, a shimmering, unfocused thing that delicately wavered. Approaching the square entranceway, he peered in, gazing at the ancient room that lay within. A worn four-posted bed stood at the back, it’s joints barely holding, and papers and books littered the floors and desks that were within. A torch sputtered near the entrance, casting a pale glow across the room.

In the middle of the room, dressed in an elaborate dark cloak with golden and purple trimmings, was a woman of sophistication. She carried a tall staff in her hand, its mahogany length topped with a unique crystalline structure containing pink orbs of some energy within. Her casual demeanor suggested that she had fully expected his coming.

Upon her head stood a noble crown consisting of three bent, golden metallic strips that joined at a ruby at her forehead. Skimpy lengths of cloth criss-crossed her entire body, the dark fabric showing an alluring amount of skin and toned flesh that caused an awkward rise in Twisted Fate’s body. Three belts, adorning her waist, served to tie a thin fabric across her lower body, barely covering enough to be considered immodest. 

She had a sort of an alluring aura that drew Twisted Fate into a daze, a demeanor so un-demure that he couldn’t help but gaze off at her, bright eyes lost. She smirked, twisting her body so that the cloth on her upper body began to slide, revealing a tantalizing amount of flesh by her breasts. With that same motion, her staff cracked into motion, a glowing sigil leaping out and striking him.

Knocked out of his daze, he attempted to empower a card to fling at her, but found that a thick chain had sprung from her arm, tying him down and preventing him from accessing his power. He flung his card anyway, snapping his wrist and arching his back for maximum effect, but watched helplessly as she dashed towards him, a shadow of trailing blurry images marking where she should have been hit. 

Instantly, wounds ruptured along his skin where her magical attack had blasted him. Clothing tore, and Twisted Fate flung more cards. Perhaps one or two out of the ten or so he had flung found their mark, most of them veering off into places where he thought the woman had been, but actually wasn’t. She had returned back to her original position as if nothing had occurred, causing the next mass of cards to fly wild. They tore through the torch, reducing the flame to nothingness.

Two sets of eyes met each other, and another flurry of attacks were exchanged. The woman weaved through his cards, as if seeing the underlying pattern, only taking glancing blows that left long trails of blood across her arms, while she flung another chain, hitting Twisted Fate square in the chest. They bound him to the wall, and he was rooted, unable to move. She stepped closer and smashed his head with her staff, causing him to groan out in pain.

Then, just as quickly as they had appeared, the chains faded into mist, and Twisted Fate rolled into the room, knocking over a stack of tomes. Dust flew into the air, followed by another barrage of cards, but the woman had blur-dashed again, ending up behind him. Once again caught in the aftermath of her dash, he groaned in pain as the magical damage struck him.

Doubled over, he couldn’t react in time as two sigils quickly struck him in succession. The first one barely impacted him, but the second hit with enough force to send him flying, and he crumpled against the wall, sending another stack of tomes falling. One more chain followed, and a similarly powerful blow left him wheezing for air, barely able to intake enough oxygen. Unable to move his limbs, he limply looked up, coughing out blood.

Still immaculately dressed, the woman flourished and bowed, before looking at Twisted Fate squarely in the face. He grit his teeth, unsure of what was to come next, and she spoke.

“Note the emblem on the ceiling. It is the mark of the Black Rose, and I am LeBlanc. To look closely is to fall into under my influence, and to look from a distance is to succumb to my illusions. But please, do let me continue,” she slowly, seductively, spoke. 

Twisted Fate managed a nod just as the chains disappeared, and he collapsed onto the ground, a small pool of blood surrounding his limp body. Unable to pick himself up, he managed to look up again, an effort that strained his entire body.

“What... what do you want?” he rasped, before coughing up more blood.

“To teach, to heal, and to give a recommendation,” she swiftly responded, “and here’s my only lesson for you- there’s always another secret. So please, do act accordingly. You played well today, but there is much for you to do.”

Confused and barely lucid, Twisted Fate only saw two large orbs barely contained by some infuriatingly deliberately placed cloth. A haze surrounded his vision as his head lolled. ‘When was the healing going to come?’, he wondered to himself, eyes wandering down to look at an exquisitely exposed midriff.

LeBlanc raised her staff, purple light emanating from it, and she traced a complex symbol in the air, leaving glowing magenta lines that seemed to pierce even more sharply than Twisted Fate’s eyes. As she completed her figure, she gazed down at the man before him, and watched as the lines flashed out of existence. Replaced by it was a green light that surrounded Twisted Fate, repairing his body as well as the likes of Soraka could.

“We’ll keep these runes a secret, shall we,” she muttered, projecting just loud enough so that she could be sure Twisted Fate could hear.

“Now for the recommendation. Only one simple task, really. Please do join the League, as it would be such a delight to meet you on the Fields of Justice,” LeBlanc spoke mirthfully, eyes cold as steel.

She watched as Twisted Fate slowly got up, pieces of tattered clothing and cards drifting downwards. Not a second later, she disappeared in a puff of smoke, the intricate carving of a black rose briefly flaring in light. Then, the room gradually faded away, leaving Twisted Fate in an extended corridor. The dust, the books, the bed, all gone. Only the dark corridor remained. 

Dusting off a few scraps from what remained of his cloak, Twisted Fate leaned against the wall. He rested for a few moments, catching his breath. Bewildered, he looked frantically around, not comprehending where the room had went. Reaching out, he touched the wall on the other side, only to find it solid as the ground. All that remained was the carving on the ceiling.

He paused, tidying up his appearance some more, before he reached deep into the recesses of his mind. He tapped the teleportation ability, revealing the immediate vicinity around him, as well as all the people. LeBlanc was nowhere to be found, although at the periphery of his clairvoyant vision were several members of the local mob fast approaching. Perhaps they came to sort out what disturbed the peace, perhaps they were just curious, but Twisted Fate panicked, and with a flash of light, found himself in an empty storeroom of an apothecary.

Boxes of dried herbs and other plants surrounded Twisted Fate as he gasped for breath, trying his best not to hyperventilate. An unsettling feeling rested in his gut. Although he had been in several tavern and casino scuffles, never before had he had the impulse to kill or had he felt the adrenaline rush that only comes when one is on the brink of death. 

Finding himself calmer after several minutes, he pushed open the door and stepped into the shop. Keeping his head low, he crossed the empty shop and headed for the door, only for the wizened shopkeeper to call out: “Get out, you gypsy kid. Ain’t nobody want to see the likes of you here!”

Twisted Fate felt resentment boil, but instinctively suppressed it. Acting on his feelings would only bring more trouble than it was worth. Stepping out into the street, he was greeted with a deluge of colors, smells and sounds. Zaun was chaotic by nature, and the rougher parts of town were only more so. Along the sidewalks lay various shops and houses, each flaunting something different. An acrid smell drifting out of a shop caused Twisted Fate to veer away from it, and he crossed onto the other side of the pathway. 

Several teenagers, covered in Shimmer, glowed a sharp red as they spied him. Catching the abrupt change in their mood, Twisted Fate resisted the urge to flick a card into his palm. 

“Get outa here, you dirty thief,” the largest teenager jeered, his right arm a deformed stump. 

“Yea, we got no space for you gypsies here,” another picked up, taunting him. 

Bored teenagers tended to pick fights, and Twisted Fate kept his cool as he walked on. He was utterly lost in this unfamiliar town, having only come because of Dr. Rath’s offer, but there was bound to be a gambling den somewhere around the area. 

Not two streets down the road, the unmistakeable scent of fresh cards and drunken men caught Twisted Fate’s attention. He snapped his head to the left, catching sight of a sign with two dice on it, and didn’t fail to notice how people drew away from him. Whether it was due to the mysterious glow in his eyes, or his background, he didn’t know.

He approached the den, pushing through the thick curtain that blocked the streetlight from filtering into the musty rooms. The place wasn’t large by any standards, but there was a variety of different people gambling their fortunes away here. A place to earn some quick money.

Twisted Fate found a table with three men seated on it. They inclined with their heads, inviting him over, and he pulled a chair over. He looked at the arrangement of cards and dice on the table and judged that it was a game of Tremolo. 

“Tremolo?” he asked, and when the others nodded, he eyed the standard decks of cards and dice that were used. He had perhaps four identical decks stashed somewhere, as well as three rigged ones and six sets of rigged dice. He drew from the central pile, spreading out the pretty terrible hand for him to see.

He noted that a man standing a ways behind him seemed to be stamping and moving oddly, but abruptly stopped when Twisted Fate turned around, as if stretching. Considering how the others at this table were clearly cheating, he arranged his hand into a stack, switching out two cards in the process for a far more advantageous hand.

The others placed their bets, all significant in size, and they glared at the tiny pile of coins that Twisted Fate brought out. It was all he had, and he shrugged indifferently. After the first two rounds, it became clear to him that the other three at the table were working together. Their hands were just too coordinated, designed to ensnare him.

However, Twisted Fate had switched out the dice for his rigged ones while he distracted them by faking an accidental reveal of his hand. The dice had tracks of mercury running inside them, making them easy to manipulate with an experienced hand, but just as random as usual to the unsuspecting. 

Rolling sets of perfect numbers after perfect numbers, Twisted Fate quickly swept away the money of the others at the table, although the money wasn’t his yet. Everything would be determined by this final hand, a cruel rule that had doomed many a skilled player. He showed his hand, now completely composed of his own cards, and quickly swept his gaze over the other cards that the opponents held. He had slowly but surely switched out all the cards with his own, and he could read what cards they all held by the covert differences in patterns of the cards.

Confident, he waited as his opponents dejectedly lay down the rest of their cards, inevitably losing the hand to Twisted Fate. He nodded in appreciation to the people sitting at the table, and dropped the large piles of golden coins into one of his pockets. He stood up, and walked away from the table, heading towards the exit.

“Bloody heck, you see that man’s eyes,” he heard a man whisper, “bet you he magicked his way to earn our gold.”

“Naw, magicians don’ dress like that,” another replied softly, as if that settled the matter.

Hiding a smile beneath his face, Twisted Fate sensed a hand try to dip into his pocket. Wheeling around, his arm shot out and caught the wrist of small child, no older than the age of nine. A skilled thief for one his age. Twisted Fate glared at the kid, who was trying his best to look innocent, and let him go. There was nothing he could do to bring justice here, save for rip the poor fools off, and he left the premises. 

Knowing that he had a reputation in that gambling den now, it would make cheating there in the future that much more difficult. Such a lifestyle necessitated that he move every once in a while, to avoid incarceration and local hostility. The unsettling feeling remained in Twisted Fate, an emotion he couldn’t quite identify, something that kept him alert and unsteady at the same time.

He decided that the best course of action at this point would be to get a fresh set of clothing. A rule of his was to always dress well, regardless of the circumstances, and today was no exception. Navigating the twisting streets, Twisted Fate eventually came across a secluded tailor’s shop.

He pushed open the wooden door, and saw how a troubled expression instantly graced the tailor’s eyes. The man was well dressed, clothed in the latest fashion, and seemed to be idly cutting lines of silk. Stacks of clothing and cloth lined the store, leaving some space for beautiful displays of clothing to hang. 

“You’re a gypsy, so what are you doing here?” the tailor spoke, narrowing his eyes.

“I’ve got gold, you need a customer, can we come to a consensus here?” Twisted Fate asked, gazing straight at the tailor.

The tailor’s eyes widened, as if realizing something, and mutely nodded. 

“Right, of course. What would you want, sir,” the tailor asked.

“A new cloak and suit to replace these old ones, and a hat to cover these eyes of mine,” was the response.

The tailor set off to work, taking measurements and softly humming to himself, as if distracting himself from something. Twisted Fate’s eyes widened, startling the tailor, as he realized what the unsettling feeling was. He was in love.


	2. Arc 1: Legacy (1.1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter will probably be the dullest one in this entire story. Trust me when I say I cut a lot of boring stuff out from the chapter (which is also why it’s shorter). Please do stick with it!

Harry Potter sat by the door, squealing in delight as he rode a miniature broomstick around in circles. His mother and father stood aways back, James Potter wearing a smug grin on his face, while Lily Potter eyed the nearby china with a worried eye. It was a typical night for the Potter family, one with plenty of happiness and laughter to go around. It was getting late, and it would soon be time for young Harry to get to bed.

“Five more minutes,” Lily called out, unsure if Harry could even understand at this age, but some of the message must have gotten through, as a briefly disappointed look crossed Harry’s face.

All of a sudden, James Potter stiffened, and drew his wand, waving it quickly through the air.

“Voldemort,” he whispered, and Lily went pale with shock.

“The secret keeper?” she asked, a tear dripping down as she realized Peter had betrayed them.

James grimly shook his head, and the two of them worked on creating wards. It would not do much to stall Voldemort, but the Order had already been notified, and hopefully they would arrive in time. However, Voldemort wandlessly cleaved through the wards as quickly as they came up, and he soon burst through the door, coming face to face with a young child.

Harry smiled gleefully as he looked at the man without a nose, almost falling off of his broom in the process. Voldemort glared, and uttered the killing curse. A flash of green light later, and Harry Potter was dead. 

***

I slipped the cover off the manhole, and descended down into the sewers of Piltover. It had been several weeks since I had last surveyed the tangling mess of pipelines and passageways, and it was possible that the new construction project near this street had resulted in the formation of some new pipes.

The dynamic sewers, running purely on Hextech technology, filtered the waters, joined pipes, and even gave semi-regular status reports. However, it was incapable of tracking its own growth, and so the job had fallen to me after I had presented his near complete map of the sewer systems to the mayor of Piltover.

Venturing through a cramped passageway, I noted down my location on an old map of mine, noting how the dimensions and locations seemed to be the same. That indicated a lack of change in the vicinity, but it wasn’t a sure sign. Thus, I had to continue crouch walking down the narrow passageway, seeking for any irregularities or differences.

I held up my Academy workbook, using the markings that I had drawn on the back of it to measure distances and angles. Save for a minor waste pipe that had recently formed, which I had duly noted down, the overall structure was by and large the same. Nothing to worry about.

I felt a measure of disappointment as I realized my trip down here would be quick today. In a sense, this was my escape, the way for me to be free from the constraints of the world, a way for me to just be myself. Outside of the sewers, I was famous, “Piltover’s Grandmaster Explorer”. Of course, I was also the first to bear the title, more honorary than anything, but it was a great deal more than most fourteen year olds had.

I reluctantly began to head back, shuffling along the cramped passageway once more. Then, in the distance, I heard the distinct sound of muffled voices. Very few dared to traverse the jumbled sewers of Piltover, and fewer had any reason to. I nervously crawled out of the passageway, heading for the source of the sound. It was possible that somebody was lost, and needed my assistance.

The water softly splashed as I stepped into a larger tunnel, heading towards the source of the sounds. The voices grew steadily louder, moving towards me just as I moved towards them. Just before I tried to call out, the words become more distinct, and I heard what was being said.

“Alright... steal the baggage... get out quick,” was all I managed to grasp, and I stopped in shock. Sure, there were a few robberies every once in a while, but organized crime was something that had virtually been wiped out in the past few years. All the mobs that remained were the toughest of the tough, able to withstand the police crackdowns and tightening security. The people who were coming my way were sure to be a member of one of these gangs.

Without a means of communication, I ducked into a side passage, and was forced to stoop. Escaping wasn’t an option, since the people had inadvertently blocked off my exit, so all I could do was wait. Referencing my maps, I saw that I was currently under the Hextech Jewelry shops. There would be police in this region, but I didn’t want to get caught in case a fight broke out.

The voices steadily grew louder, and loud splashes of water echoed through the main path. I shrank back further into the side passage, aware that it grew smaller the further I went, and that it soon wouldn’t be able to fit me. The cold water swirled around my boots, eddying and flowing, and I found myself nervously waiting for the robbers to pass so that I could make my escape and notify the authorities.

“The passageway should be around here,” a deep voice called out, and I nearly jumped at how close the voice was.

“Got the hexplosives ready?” a more feminine voice asked.

“Right here, we’ll wire it up when we get there,” the first voice replied.

Then, I saw the robbers briefly block my field of vision. They were both tall and covered from head to toe with dark clothing, a variety of instruments and implements strapped to their bodies. Several dark spheres that I identified as hexsplosives were strapped across the man’s chest, and I found myself wishing that I could back away more. Then, they passed by my hiding spot, and I visibly relaxed.

Not two seconds later, they passed back into my field of vision. 

“It’s right here,” the woman called out, gesturing towards my passageway. 

They hadn’t noticed me yet, but it would only be a matter of time. The man nodded, and as they bent down to enter the passageway, my eyes met theirs. The man and woman advanced, as if they hadn’t seen me, and I gulped with fear. There was no way that they hadn’t seen me, but it was only a matter of what would happen now that they knew I was here. I gripped my maps tightly in my right hand, knuckles whitening, and the paper began to rip.

“Looks like the prodigal explorer’s here, eh,” the man deliberately spoke.

The woman affirmed, slowly reaching behind her and pulling out a Hextech Gunblade. Its pale-green core was unlit, but after she spun the barrel several times, it began to let out a low hum, and slowly began to glow. Everyone watched in silence as the gunblade reached its full power capacity, its green light shining so brightly that I had to avert my eyes slightly. Stalling for time in the hopes that the police were somehow on their way, I pointed at the gunblade. 

“Are you going to kill me with that?” I asked, voice quavering. 

The emotion in the statement was real enough, even if I already knew the answer. Without responding, the woman pointed the gun at me, and pulled the trigger. A bright laser seared through the wall right by my arm, and I leaned the other way, trying in the narrow confines to avoid my inevitable fate.

The woman laughed at my reaction, and I realized that she hadn’t even tried to hit me with the laser. They were just toying with me, for now. Perhaps there was hope, if the police somehow got wind of this confrontation.

Chuckling, the man plucked off a few hexplosives from his chest-belt, and strode up to me, attaching a couple of bombs in the passageway. I stood paralyzed in fear as he grinned at me, unsure of what to do. I had always dreamed that I would be a legendary fighter some day, but had settled for exploring when I got beaten up by the neighborhood children, and now I finally knew why my hopes were ill founded. I had absolutely no talent at all, not when it came to combat.

The woman redirected her gunblade at me, and pulled the trigger again. This time, the weapon found its mark, and I felt the top of my right shoulder begin to bleed. She had intentionally missed most of my body, but the pain was enough to make me scream out in agony. The wound burned worse than flame, the stinging sensation repeating itself thousands of times per second.

I instinctively drew into myself, finding a part of myself that had been locked away for twelve or so years, and screamed again. The woman fired again, eyes widening as the air around my began to glow, comparable in brightness to her gunblade, and I felt a searing sensation that told me the bulk of my shoulder blade was gone. I screamed louder, my right arm tenuously connected to the rest of my body.

Then the passageway grew greener as a dark green light flashed from my body, striking the man and the woman down. A subconscious use of magic that I always had, magic that was sealed off from me when I had died. It seemed that the floodgates had been opened, and I let go with all that I had, instantly murdering the two people without a second thought.

I screamed louder when I realized what I had done. Blood on my hands, when I was barely fourteen. Killing, ending life, even if mine was in danger. Was what I did even justifiable? Then my arm exploded in a burst of pain again, and I crumpled to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. Cold water washed over my body, but it failed to bring clarity to my thoughts.

‘I killed, I killed, I killed,’ was the thought that repeated itself over and over again in my head. I groaned, trying to shut it off, but it was the reality of the world. All the potential that the people had, the grief and pain that those who cared for the people would feel, everything was my fault. And I didn’t even know who they were.

‘Fuck, fuck, why, why,’ the stream of thoughts continued, unstoppable and raw as the pain that continued to tear through me. At some point, those thoughts become words, and my screams took on a whole new meaning as I hollered out loud, seeking repentance and meaning.

Dimly, I heard the stamping of boots in the distance, and I screamed louder, spitting a string of curses at whatever had reduced me to this state. I was a murderer now, and there was nothing that could change that. Nothing to do but face the music. I don’t think I even grasped the full gravity of what I had done, as if I hadn’t sunk low enough.

Gasps of worry and confusion resounded as the police finally arrived, surveying the scene for mere seconds before calling for a medical team, quickly. I was traumatized, and didn’t respond when a gorgeous looking lady in a purple dress and a tall hat asked me what happened. The police quickly checked over the criminals, making sure that they were dead, but they kept their distance from me. There wasn’t a medic on the team, and as far as they knew, I was an insane lunatic who had just killed two people.

At long last, the medics arrived, and they hauled my onto a stretcher, carefully keeping my arm attached to the rest of my body. Someone used healing magic on me, but it seemed to do painfully little as I cried out my sins for the world to hear. I struggled, trying to roll off the stretcher, to repent, to ask for forgiveness from the dead, when I felt a mask clamp down over my head, and the world went dark.

***

“Ezreal Harry Potter,” the mayor spoke, as he looked out the window, back facing me.

I didn’t respond, instead choosing to look around the mayor’s office. It looked similar to the time he had awarded me with my title, the hextech processors whirring in the corner, while stacks of files lined the walls. Unfinished documents littered his table, and I looked away from them, not wanting to know what they contained. Chances were, a good half of them concerned me.

“You betrayed the trust Piltover handed over to you freely,” he continued, sighing. My father and mother were universes away, and there was nobody here to speak for me. 

“You killed one man and one woman. In self-defense, undoubtedly, but to kill is to kill. There’s no two ways about it,” the mayor continued, turning around to sit down on his chair.

I crossed my legs under my chair, feeling the awkward replacement shoulder blade dig into my flesh. Several hours of intensive surgery had still left something to be desired, and chances were that I would never heal completely from the injuries I had sustained.

“Usually, the police would send you directly to the courts, where you would be tried for murder, and then dealt with appropriately,” the mayor spoke, “and that is what will happen presently. However, I would like to discuss some options with you, so I pulled you aside.”

Surprised, I looked up to eye the mayor. His serious face portrayed a cultivated air of disappointment that I despised. Before I could motion for him to go on, he continued.

“You are a minor, and have served our grand city-state well so far. It is regretful that things transpired as they did. While you would usually expect the capital punishment, which is still a possibility if you don’t accept my deal, I offer that if you represent Piltover at the Institute of War, we will do our best to exonerate you,” the mayor said, watching me.

“That... that sounds like an awfully good deal, sir,” I replied, unsure of what to make of this. It was common knowledge that we didn’t have enough Summoners at the Institute, but it never crossed my mind to train to become one. However, with my latent magical abilities that the police had surely discovered, the idea made sense.

“I trust that you will act appropriately, then,” the mayor finished, gesturing for me to leave. 

I got out of my chair, and left the room, where an escort walked me out of the mayor’s building. We crossed the street and boarded a mechanical beetle that began to walk towards a courthouse. The beetle was a common enough model, one that I had once ridden every day to school, but I supposed that regular school days would be behind me, one way or another.

My escort, an anonymous woman of commanding presence, led me into the courthouse. I had met my lawyer some days before, a man well-versed in handling cases related to minors, and I trusted that the mayor would uphold his end of the deal. Shaking my left hand with the lawyer, Mr. Nile, we entered the courtroom together.

The first thing I saw was the massive crowd that was in the courtroom, a group of people so large that it seemed to spill out the building. It seemed that the slaughter of two people by a kid like me didn’t happen everyday. There was sure to be people who supported me, and people who wished to see me die today.

The trial proceeded much as was expected, and when I was called upon to testify, I said my piece, memorized, was briefly cross-examined about some details, and then returned to my seat. I couldn’t follow everything that went on, given my limited experience in law, but watched as the proceedings ended and the jury left the room. 

About an hour later, they returned to give their verdict. It was a unanimous decision to train me as a Summoner to represent Piltover at the Institute of War. The judge nodded, and my fate was sealed. I anxiously gulped, looking at my astounded lawyer who looked completely lost. The crowd burst into noise, descending into a cacophony that prevented me from hearing anything else.

I felt pity for my lawyer, arguing a case that had been decided moments before he had even entered the room. I loathed the corruption of the system that I had just seen, but I had no other choice. It was bow down to the mayor or die, and I appreciated the value of life too much to carelessly throw it away.

Once again, my escort led me away from the courtroom, and onto the beetle. We headed off to the Piltover Summoner’s Institute, the Institute of War’s official training grounds for Summoners at Piltover. I had only seen the place once or twice before, and was fairly amazed by how mundane the structure looked. It was a series of large, rectangular buildings situated around a green lawn, a simple design that held enough room for a hundred or so students.

There were currently around fifteen, including myself. It wasn’t that people didn’t want to be Summoners. Getting the job would be a dream come true for many people, but one needed at least some degree of magical ability and a bunch of other traits to test into a Summoner’s Institute. I supposed I had somehow qualified when the mayor pulled his strings, and I wasn’t about to complain about it.

As my escort and I approached the massive iron front gates, I saw Lyte by the gates, waiting for me. He was a good man, and my only family. He had adopted me when I had came to this world, but was a hermit scientist who worked for the Institute of War near the Howling Abyss. We rarely saw each other nowadays, but I supposed that killing two people and switching schools warranted a visit.

I hopped off the beetle, ignoring my escort’s cry, and walked up to Lyte. 

“Nephew,” he called out, pulling me into a bear hug. I saw several tears glimmer on his face, and I let myself be content in his grasp for a while. When we broke away, I turned back to see my escort impatiently waiting for me. I offered a quick smile, and the three of us headed into the Summoner’s Institute.

We passed through the grounds and entered one of the two buildings currently in use, the Teacher’s Hall. It was where Summoners in training went during the day for lessons, with the other building being a dormitory. As we entered the large marble building, the escort directed us towards the administrative quarters of the building.

There were three dedicated professors, one member of the administrative staff and four part-time Summoners currently working at the Summoner’s Institute. The administrator, Dr. Kree, was the liaison between the Summoner’s Institute and the Institute of War, as well as the general manager of the Summoner’s Institute. She was a competent woman who was desperately trying to get attendance rates to rise, but Piltover was no exception when it came to a low number of Summoners training.

Really, there wasn’t a need for that many Summoners at all. There was about five or six Summoners to every champion in the League, and while a Summoner’s job entailed more than just fighting on the Fields of Justice, there was more than enough Summoners, even with the high mortality rate associated with the job.

However, it made for bad public relations when people passed by the grounds and realized that only two of the eight buildings that had been constructed were occupied. All of this rolled through my head as my escort and Lyte filled in paperwork and did the mundane tasks for me. For some reason, people tended to think that I was incapable, despite the fact that I had proven myself several times. Or perhaps, it was possible that they couldn’t trust me. I had a reputation now, for better or worse, and I would have to face the consequences of my actions.

Regardless, classes had been cancelled for the day to welcome the new student, and I soon got to meet each of my new professors. Professor Scy taught the theoretical portions related to the League of Legends, including aspects such as battlefield strategy. Professor Turing specialized in teaching the more day-to-day tasks of a Summoner, such as playing the role of an ambassador or special forces in times of need. I exchanged courteous greetings with each professor, getting to briefly know them before moving on to the next.

I met each student as well, but didn’t find myself really attached to any of them, or even interested in any of them. All were fairly unremarkable, as far as Summoners tended to go. People that I would forget after months, if not for the fact that I would be living with them for the next three years.

It would a grueling, intense and lonely next three years. Three years confined within the grounds of a school, a beautified prison with a promise of freedom down the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please do give whatever you think this story deserves (whether it be a kudos, nothing, or a report).


	3. Arc 1: Legacy (1.2)

 

1.2 

 

The scorching wind carried fine grains of sand across the landscape, the goggles that I wore only serving to obscure my vision. I huddled in the temporary bunker I had dug for myself to wait out the sandstorm, but the ruthless climate of the Shurima desert made even this difficult.

 

From the moment I was finally free of the Summoner’s Institute, I had opted to leave the place as quickly as I could. Now, I had one short month of respite before I would officially join the Summoners in the Institute of War. Pulling out a blue orb from my pack, I concentrated on it, feeling my mind link to the orb. All Summoners had such an orb, which was the focus of their powers. 

 

Gazing deep within the orb, I allowed it to form a connection with me, and then pushed downwards. The motion replicated itself with much more force beneath me, carving out a larger bunker for me to rest in. I had thought the incoming sandstorm would blow over quickly, but apparently this wasn’t the case.

 

I coughed, getting some sand out of my windpipes, before sitting down and relaxing. I was supposed to have passed through a village to restock on supplies two days ago, and then was supposed to resupply at another village yesterday and today, but either my map was wrong or something odd had happened, as I had not seen any traces of civilization since entering the desert.

 

My supplies were quickly dwindling, and I only had a few gulps of water left on me. The absences of the villages worried me. Although the tribes that inhabited this area tended to be nomadic, the listed settlements were supposedly permanent. However, not a trace of their existence remained within several leagues of the village’s supposed location.

 

Thinking to an article I had read about groundwater, I touched my orb, once again bonding with it. This time, I gradually released my senses, until I was hardly aware of the world. Then, I focused on something else, letting a new sense fill in the gap that I had left. Now, wherever I looked, I would be able to see moisture. And there was painfully little. 

 

Looking down, there was hardly any groundwater to be found. All of it was very sparsely spread, far too little to be of use. A few creatures with bodies containing water scuttled about, but that wasn’t going to help. There were no wells, or any sizable reservoirs of water as far as I could see. In fact, there wasn’t even another human within sight. Not entirely unexpected, I supposed, but I had hoped for the best and came up with the worst.

 

I pushed the water-sense back into the orb, and pulled back my regular senses, slowly able to feel the rough grains of sand, hear the howling wind and even feel temperature. I had given up virtually every ability to feel, save for the ones that tied me to my body, and it wasn’t a comfortable feeling.

 

Glad to be back to normal, I packed my orb away, not wanting it to be damaged by the sand, and continued to wait. The blustering winds eventually settled into a powerful rhythm, and I listened with my eyes shut to the world. This was oddly peaceful, despite the thirst that burned my throat, and I must have fell asleep, as when my eyes opened, the sandstorm had ended.

 

The climb out of the bunker took only a few seconds, and the desert outside looked nearly identical to the one I had left before. I groaned when I realized I would have no choice but to press onwards. Regularly, I would have been delighted by the prospect, but I had no idea whether I would survive this trip, given my water had already ran out.

 

It would take too long to go back the way I came from, so my only option was to press on and hope for the best. If I died here out in the open desert, well, only Piltover’s cartographers and my lack of foresight would be to blame. I wasn’t quite ready to kick the bucket, yet, so I took off, trudging deeper into the Shurima in the hopes of finding a village or well.

 

The time and landscape passed slower than the Demacian-Noxus peace talks went. It was agonizing, remaining lucid while my body lurched forwards, step after step, with me unable to do anything. Then the soreness in my throat became a dull ache, that intensified with every second I spent further out in the sun. 

 

All the energy had left my body as I continued to stumble on, in the vain hopes of finding some sort of water out in the open desert. I had foolishly traded in my steed for some local currency when I belatedly realized my Piltover dollars held no value here. Now, I was facing the consequences of that impulsive decision. 

 

My walk continued, the path I left a stumbling uncertain trail that winded about. I knew I was walking inefficiently, but I couldn’t help it. There was nothing I could do as my body sank into the soft sand, unwilling to get up. The warm grains surrounded my body, and I felt like falling asleep. It would be warm, blissful, unlike the myriad of pains that had sprouted out in my body.

 

Then I jolted awake, aware that I didn’t have much time left. Slowly pulling myself up, I didn’t even bother to remove the sand from my face as I continued onwards. Out in the horizon, I spied a speck of a telltale structure, and determination rushed through me. _I can make it this next hour or so,_ I told myself, moving ahead.

 

Perhaps I would be able to. The distance quickly shortened, and soon, more structures appeared in my vision. Then, I noticed something was off. There was a queer silence about the place, no sound of work or childish laughter, not even the sound of a fire burning or really, anything.

 

It didn’t matter to me, though. Even if the village wasn’t occupied, there was bound to be some water in here somewhere. I finally entered the village boundaries, passing through a low sandstone wall that had clearly seen better years. I passed through old stone structures that were clearly meant for residence, but while there were scraps of things inside them, there was nobody to be found.

 

However, I had spied a circular structure by the center of the village, and this was all I cared about. I made my way towards the well, hypnotized, and eventually found my arms resting on it. _Only a little more,_ I reminded myself, and looked down.

 

The well was dry. Not a drop of water could be seen by the bottom of the shallow structure, and I tried to swallow, but my throat was obviously dry. Standing in the center of the deserted village, I couldn’t even summon the moisture to cry. I collapsed once more onto the ground, not knowing what I could do at this point.

 

I couldn’t give up, not really, but what could I do now? Venture on in the hopes of finding water? The notion that civilization even existed in the Shurima seemed rather ridiculous to me. I had clearly been played as a fool when I read about the floating pyramids, the magnificent tombs, and the elements of civilizations millennia passed that were still perfectly preserved in the Shurima.

 

The drumbeat of hooves in the distance caught my attention. The steady beat quickly grew louder, and I rolled over to look at the incoming party. A tall, dark skinned woman rode in the lead, with around ten men behind her. They rushed forwards in a V-formation, bellowing war cries. It seemed to me that they hadn’t realized that this village was deserted.

 

Without enough time to pick myself up and hide, I could do nothing but wait while they rushed into the village, curved blades gleaming. They quickly came to the same conclusion that I had, the men growling in frustration while the woman moved ahead. 

 

As she got closer, I managed to get a better look at her. Her entire body was toned as a warrior’s would be, but she wore very minimal amounts of armor and... clothing, too. From the looks of the emeralds inlaid in her armor, they provided some sort of magical protection that meant she could wear lighter armor and still be safe.

 

Her brunette hair flowed down to her shoulders, harsh green eyes betraying the barely tempered look on her face. Despite her savage clothing and actions, she held herself with a noble poise, the only dignified woman among brutes. Just glancing at her, I could already tell that she had a very developed figure, and I anxiously hoped that when she spotted me, she wouldn’t be able to spot the telltale budge in my pants.

 

At long last, she got to the well, and looked at me.

 

“And who are you,” she growled, looking straight at me.

 

“A.. ss..s..suh...,” I tried to form words, but I just rasped.

 

It was when she held her boomerang blade above me, about to casually execute me that I realized who she was. The legendary Battle Mistress, Sivir, a champion of the League of Legends. She was a mercenary who operated in the Shurima, and I suppose part of her job entailed raiding villages.

 

However, before she could bring her blade down, I desperately grabbed at my pack, pulling out my Summoner’s Orb, showing it to her. Sivir glanced at it, hesitating, before putting down her blade.

 

“A summoner? Why didn’t you say so?” Sivir asked, her tone surprisingly warm.

 

I shrugged, gesturing at the large water flask that hung at her side. I could see the smile on her face as she unstrapped the flask and tossed it at me. Greedily grabbing it, I took the water I nearly swallowed the flask whole, letting the water flow down my throat.

 

Several long seconds later, I gasped in satisfaction, briefly pausing for air before downing more liquid. The men had realized that there was nothing of value to be found in the village, and were crowded in a ring behind Sivir, who seemed to hold them at bay with her presence alone. She called roughly for some water when she saw I had finished her flask, and someone produced more liquid for me to down.

 

I felt a dull ache in my stomach after several minutes of relentless drinking, but it felt good to finally taste water after the few days without it. Eventually, I set my third flask down, watching worriedly as the men grew restless, fingering their massive weapons.

 

“Are you our magician, then?” Sivir asked, staring at me oddly.

 

I shook my head. 

 

“Well, might as well be our magician. I figure you’re gonna have to stay with us anyways, given how you seem to be incompetent at surviving in the desert,” she continued, and I flushed with embarrassment.

 

Finding my voice, I asked: “Magician?”

 

“Well, we need some help dealing with magical elements when we raid tombs, so we always have a magician with us. However, our last one died, so we got in contact to find a new one, and I just followed the trail. Apparently, we were following yours and not the right one.”

 

“Well, there might be a problem here, then. I’m Ezreal, Grand Master Explorer of Piltover, and I can’t allow tomb-raiding to occur here in the Shurima.”

 

“No wonder you looked familiar, Ezreal. I wasn’t aware that the Shurima was under Piltover’s jurisdiction.”

 

I flushed again. Sivir was known for her beauty and brawn, not her wits. It seemed to me, however, that it would be best to just play on with whatever she had in mind for now, so that I could get home safely.

 

“In that case,” I continued, “I’d be honored to join your mercenaries here.”

 

Sivir gave a quick nod, satisfied, and whistled for a horse to come. She handed me the reigns wordlessly, and barked something in a harsh tongue that I did not speak, but recognized as some dialect of Shumarian. Glancing at the horse, I quickly realized with a sinking feeling that traveling on horse would be immensely difficult.

 

The steed I had brought with me had been one with a saddle and nice leg-loops and other fancy contraptions to keep me, an inexperienced rider, on my horse. In front of me was an untamed beast that wished to run free. 

 

“Sivir,” I called out, as the mercenaries began to mount their horses, “I can’t ride without a saddle.”

 

Sivir turned back and looked at me, green eyes flashing incredulously. Then, slowly, she let out a high laugh, a melodic sound that was taken up by the other mercenaries. The noise deepened, booming and echoing through the open sky, and I couldn’t help but crack a grin myself. 

 

Wordlessly, she reached into one of her packs and pulled out a long length of rope, quickly measuring some lengths by eye, and then sliced the rope with her unique blade. Now equipped with several lengths of rope, she told me to get on the horse, and I obliged. Then, with a quick series of motions, she tied my body down onto the horse until I was bound upright, stuck to the horse.

 

More laughter sounded, and I shook my head ruefully. At the very least, the ropes weren’t quite tight enough to cut off my circulation, but I was sure they would hold me down. It was a bit excessive, but there was nothing I could do about my predicament now. Sivir held one of the ropes leading her horse in front of me, and I understood that she would be guiding my horse.

 

Speaking in the Shumarian tongue, Sivir called out some command, and the horses kicked off, leaving a cloud of dust behind as we advanced.

 

***

 

We rode through the day, Sivir grasping my horse’s ropes to guide it as we traveled across the desert. The wind howled loudly in the air, making it difficult to hear speech, so most of the communications consisted of calls from the front-riders and back-riders, who served as scouts.

 

The steady rhythm and movement was only broken as we stopped for a noon meal, the horses panting as we came to a rest. The horses formed a small ring, a natural barrier and non-permanent encampment that also served as a quick means to escape. So far, the landscape had been quite unremarkable, and I was disappointed. Was there really nothing fascinating worth seeing after four days of travel on foot and half a day more on horse?

 

“I’ll take this time to brief you on the tomb we’re raiding,” a voice called out from behind me. Sivir.

 

“The great mage Khepri, Scorn of the Sands, was buried in it. Although the possibility of traps is low, the local tribes people are sure to wish to defend such a sacred monument to their ancestry. It’s one of the sixteen great floating tombs, as I’m sure you know something about, but we’ll see how long it stays afloat without its amulet,” Sivir finished.

 

I grimly nodded, realizing that there wasn’t much I could do to oppose the raid. The men spread out a large cloth over the sands, and began distributing loaves of bread. I squirmed, trying to break free of the bonds that held me. Sivir, still behind me, sliced through half the ropes with a clean cut.

 

I slid off the horse, and sat down beside a large man with a long, dark beard. Tanned from months out in the sun, he wore flowing grey robes, worn from months of travel. A large axe lay by him, sharpened and gleaming, and I saw that his physique was truly one of a warrior. While some relied on magic to enhance their strength during the heat of combat, many did not have this luxury, or did not like to rely on it.

 

Still, it was my poor excuse for not physically training. To my chagrin, I never seemed to have enough time to work out. An unfortunate consequence of spending too much time practicing practical applications of magic, I supposed.

 

The man next to me ripped off a large chunk of bread from one of the larger loaves near the center, and I imitated him, chewing the coarse grains and quickly swallowing. The stuff wasn’t very nutritious, but it was certainly quite filling. The mercenaries, all men save for Sivir, began conversing. I couldn’t follow the conversation, but laughed all the same when one of them told a joke. 

 

However, it seemed that my awkward situation was fairly obvious to the others, as Sivir quickly approached me. 

 

“How would you like to fetch some water with me?” she asked, subconsciously pressing her assets out towards me.

 

I swallowed, forcing my eyes upwards, and agreed to go with her. We each picked up several large water-skins, and I followed behind Sivir as we exited our makeshift camp. We walked in companionable silence for several minutes, as I tried my best not to stare at Sivir’s garments or body, before a well appeared out of the blue, right next to Sivir.

 

“How does that work,” I inquired, staring at the well suspiciously.

 

“Nearly all structures in the Shurima are covered with thick enchantments that hide them from sight unless one gets very close or knows how to look for the signs,” Sivir explained, motioning at the well.

 

“Of course, I remember reading a minor detail about that now,” I said, not understanding how people could fail to emphasize such an important detail. Perhaps that was why I wasn’t able to find the villages along the path? 

 

Sivir reached for the rope in the well, pulling up a bucket full of water and filling up a water-skin with it. I helped her out, content with watching her labor, a layer of sweat soon building up over her tan skin. She must have noticed that I was watching, but she didn’t seem to mind very much. I certainly didn’t.

 

After ten or twenty minutes, the water-skins were all full, and I reached down and tried to pick up half of them. Straining, I barely managed to carry them, and promptly dropped one. Luckily, no water spilled out, but Sivir wordlessly took several water-skins from my arms and carried them herself.

 

I shook my head, embarrassed at how weak I was, and swore to physically better myself sometime soon. We headed back towards the camp, making our way at a slower pace than before. 

 

“I thought you quit being a mercenary after you joined the League,” I asked Sivir.

 

“I did,” Sivir replied, “but then I started again. I would say more, but it’s personal stuff, you know?”

 

“Yea, some stuff just isn’t meant to be shared,” I added thoughtfully.

 

We entered the camp again, passing through the lines of horses. I panted and wheezed, and while I hadn’t completely recovered from my bout of dehydration, I doubted that I would have fared much better at my peak.

 

Sivir and I distributed the water-skins back to their respective owners, and I finished up my meal. The mercenaries lounged about, chatting and maintaining their equipment. I pulled out my maps and notes, making some annotations about things I had learned, seen and discovered, updating various things.

 

Khepri’s tomb was marked on my map, and based on the rate we were traveling at, we would probably reach it sometime early the next day. I noticed that there were significantly more traces of civilization marked around this region. A legacy of the magicians that had once inhabited the region, or a coincidence?

 

The mercenaries were getting up now, and I followed in turn, packing up various scrolls and bound books. I leaped onto my horse, and he nickered softly. He padded the ground nervously, as if he knew that he bore an inexperienced rider. I called out to Sivir, who took one look at me on the horse, and pulled out the ropes that she had used from before. Although split into smaller pieces, the rope was still tied on me firmly by Sivir.

 

I thanked her, unsure of how long it would take for me to learn how to ride a horse bareback, before we were on the move again. Sitting near the lead, the only person I could really see was Sivir, who was in front of me. I observed her posture and the way she rode, and did my best to imitate it, constrained as I was by the ropes that surrounded me.

 

It was then that I noticed something odd about her when she rode. A faint blue glow that I had never noticed, rippling off in waves, seemed to emanate from her. As the blue waves passed through me and my horse, we were both instilled with a sense of vigor that empowered us to move faster.

 

I craned my neck to look behind me, and noticed that while the waves had dissipated some, they still urged the others to move quicker. This was a type of magic that I had rarely seen before. In Valoran, magic was generally split into two types – core-based and cell-based. Most Summoners, including myself, relied on core-based magic. However, judging on the nearly subconscious use of magic, as well as the way in which the waves statically appeared, I guessed that she was using cell-based magic.

 

Really, it shouldn’t have surprised me. Nearly every champion in the League of Legends could use magic, whether it be core-based, cell-based, something else entirely, or some combination of the three. Even Garen, the Demacian swordsman had revealed in an interview that he used magic to enhance his body and blows, including his famous “Demacian Justice”.

 

For several minutes, I sat contentedly, watching the subtle blue waves wash over me. Oddly enough, although I felt my reactions were faster and movements quicker, it was fairly easy for me to pinpoint to what extent this was occurring. I knew how much faster I was moving, and the degree of control I now had over my body was simply astounding.

 

However, I ignored this as I gradually drifted off to sleep on the horse, since I didn’t have to worry about riding it properly. The steady rhythm rocked me to sleep, and the world faded to dark.

 

***

 

I was jolted awake from my nap by the sudden stopping of the horses. I peered out into the darkness, able to make out faces lit by burning torches. It was night, now and with the desert night came the cold. I shivered, watching as the others dismounted.

 

“Sivir, could you help me out here?” I called out.

 

She hopped off her horse and stared at me. She strode up to my, swaying her hips slightly. I tried my best not to react as she lay a hand on my back, where the ropes met, and she delicately untied the knots that held the rope in place. A few minutes later, the ropes dropped off, and I got off of my horse.

 

The others had began pitching tents on the sand, with two men sharing a tent. Someone had gotten round to setting up a fire, although where the wood came from was beyond me. As a few of the mercenaries cooked dinner (a thin stew), I sat down to wait. My alert eyes caught every spark that flew into the black sky, aware of the casual arrogance that we displayed.

 

The cold was getting to me, and I inched closer to the fire for more warmth. I had packed for the cold desert climate, but had not expected temperatures to drop so low. Some minutes later, Sivir sat down next to me and she looked straight at me, before clearing her throat.

 

“Sorry to break the news to you now, but you’re going to have to share a tent with me,” Sivir said.

 

“Wait. Come again?” I asked, feeling my ears burn red.

 

“Well, you heard what I said. Our last magician died with his tent stored in his personal vacuum, and we haven’t had time to replace it. Since I’m the only one who sleeps alone, you’re going to have to sleep with me, as awkward as that sounds,” Sivir explained.

 

I shook my head. This was absolutely ridiculous. Not that I entirely minded sharing a tent with Sivir, but that was what worried me. Even though I wasn’t directly looking at Sivir, I could see the dark outline of her hourglass figure. Sleeping alone in the sand was certainly not a very attractive option, when compared to this offer.

 

I turned to face Sivir, and saw her eyes staring straight back at me, waiting for a response. I decided not to give her one. The stew was ready, so I got up and got a bowl, and waited in line for my serving. There were more important things on my mind than sharing a tent with an attractive lady. Khepri’s tomb was a big one, for starters.

 

The evening meal went by in a similar fashion to the noonday one, and soon the men retired to their tents, conversing in low tones. A few of the mercenaries ribbed me, as if daring me to do something, but I politely ignored them. I knew what they wanted, and it wasn’t helping me keep my feelings under control at all.

 

When the last mercenary entered his tent, Sivir got up, and motioned for me. I wordlessly stood up and followed her through the desert night, holding up a glowing Summoner’s orb for illumination. We quickly reached the tent, a rather small thing up close, and Sivir opened the front flap and slipped in. 

 

“Don’t come in unless you wish to see me changing,” she called out, and I stopped in my tracks.

 

I wore my Summoner’s robes, which could really be worn to any occasion, so I hadn’t bothered packing any change of clothes. A rather unintelligent decision, but this was my first time out of Piltover. Rather ironic for the Grand Master Explorer of Piltover, I thought.

 

A few minutes later, I pulled open the tent flap and ducked in, just in time to see Sivir pull on a gown over her half-naked body. Really, it was nothing I hadn’t seen in her revealing armor, and she wasn’t facing me, but the very idea of seeing her in this state caused me to flush in embarrassment and stiffen in a lower place.

 

“What took you so long,” I growled, slipping under the woolen bed-sheet.

 

“My armor takes a while to put on and take off,” Sivir replied, getting under the bed-sheet as well.

 

I lay on the far left of the tent, while Sivir was on the right, but it was tight fit and left about two or three inches of space between us. The inside of the tent, combined with the wool and Sivir’s body heat made the cold much more tolerable, and I was glad for having made the decision of sleeping in the tent.

 

My eyes soon closed, although I couldn’t fall asleep. I had napped for several hours too long, but I didn’t dare light up my orb to study, in case Sivir was asleep. Thus, all I could do was lay down and wait. Half an hour passed, and I didn’t feel any drowsier than before. I was growing restless, but didn’t to even move, in case it disturbed the blanket. Who knew how lightly the Battle-Mistress slept?

 

Daydreaming, I didn’t even notice when Sivir hissed out “Ezreal!” She must have judged that I was sound asleep by then, as she shifted over until our arms were just about touching. I wondered what she was doing, but didn’t move as I felt a soft pair of lips breath against mine, before touching them briefly.

 

I wanted to kiss back, to do something completely inappropriate and violate her, but I stilled my raging hormones. She slowly snaked an arm around my back, gradually pulling me closer to her, and she snuggled up against me, pressing her firm breasts against my back. 

 

The two orbs felt like heaven to me, and I held my breath for several long moments. Then, I felt her bend over me and rest her head in the crook of my neck. Several minutes later, I heard her softly snoring.

 

Utterly confused and aroused, it was a while before I too fell asleep.


	4. Arc 1: Legacy (1.3)

1.3

I focused on the last two men on the ground, creating concentric green circles around them. I concentrated harder, ignoring the mental fatigue that plagued me, and the circles began to spin. A few meters to the left of me, an identical set of circles emerged, spinning in a similar fashion. With one final effort, the men disappeared from my vision and appeared to my left. 

All twelve of us were now standing at the entrance of Khepri’s tomb. The structure was a massive pyramid that hung in the sky, suspended by a magical amulet at its center. The entire structure was perhaps as large as the Summoner’s Institute back at Piltover was, except even taller. 

The effort that I had spent taking the twelve of us up onto the pyramid’s entrance was quite considerable, and we hadn’t even entered the tomb yet. Luckily, there probably weren’t going to be many magical traps in the pyramid. It had something to do with the fact that Khepri had slain most of the other magicians in her rise to power. 

According to local tradition, using magic on one’s own tomb would prevent one from entering the afterlife, so Khepri was left with the weakest mages at the time to protect her tomb. All she had contributed to the tomb was the funds for its construction, the massive magical amulet, and her own body.

In front of us was a massive marble door, the white sticking out among the sandstone walls. Sivir pointed at it, and spoke several Shumarian words that I didn’t catch. Several of the mercenaries walked up to the door, and tried to push it open. When it didn’t budge, and no opening mechanism could be found, they raised their weapons.

The one on the far left, called Zino, empowered his pike with a shout. The others beside him copied him, and their weapons glowed with magical energy. They charged forwards, ramming into the door with all their strength. Cracks appeared where the weapons met the door, gradually spreading into a complex lattice until the door shattered.

I peered into the tomb’s entrance, seeing a dark corridor with multiple paths branching off of it. Several torches were lit, and we proceeded inside together. My Summoner’s Orb was out, and I expended some energy to search for traps. There were no signs of millennia old latent magic, and I trusted that Sivir and the others would find the more physical traps.

We continued down the corridor, ignoring the paths that branched off, until we were about a quarter the way into the tomb. There was a dead-end here, with a branch leading to the left and a branch leading to the right. Up until this point, the structure had looked decidedly barren and boring. However, to my left and right were artistic wonders, beautiful paintings of ancient art lining the walls of the tomb.

I whistled appreciatively, and several of the mercenaries copied me, mocking me. Sivir placed an arm on my shoulder, placating me, and I pulled out a piece of paper and a quill, quickly tracing the rough designs of some of the art. The others waited, not wanting to venture on in the case that there were any magical traps, and I finished up as quickly as I could.

As soon as I finished tracing a portion of the wall, to my horror, Zino and the mercenaries that had opened the door empowered their weapons again. They slammed their weapons into the wall, carving out large portions of it and dropping them into various sacks. Monuments from the tomb to be sold for later, I supposed.

“What you trace, we assume to be worthy of keeping,” Sivir explained, and one of the few mercenaries that spoke English nodded.

We ventured onwards, finding not much more than paintings until we hit another split in the path. The one to the left led to a smaller circular room, while the one to the right was another long passageway. I touched my orb, extending my magical senses outwards. I was blind to the world now, but would be able to sense any magic as a vivid flash of color. I felt a familiar dull blue glow from Sivir, several red ones from the weapons the mercenaries carried, and a periodically winking green light in the circular room. Unfamiliar with the particular spell, I probed it further, only to discover that it was a magic sensor.

“Run, get back,” I shouted, gesturing towards the corridor, and our party took off, sprinting down into the longer corridor. A few seconds later, a large rumble and crash was heard, and a plume of dust headed our way. I quickly established a stabler connection to my Summoner’s Orb, wanting to dispel the dust, then decided against it. It would be better to conserve my strength for more potentially lethal traps.

The wave of dust washed over us, and the group of us coughed, hacking out the thick mixture. A few seconds later, the dust cleared, and the group looked at me. I hadn’t been able to detect the magical signature of the amulet through this expedition so far, and I had no clue which way would be the correct one. Acting on a hunch, I pointed towards the circular room.

We walked into the circular room. I was scanning for magical traps, not really paying attention to the physical reality but the magical one instead, and I walked straight into a hole that had released the dust. I switched back into regular vision the instant my feet left the ground, but one of the mercenaries reacted quickly, grabbing the back of my shirt.

I looked down, and gulped. It seemed that the hole in the pyramid went all the way down to the surface of the desert. The mercenary called for help, and several strained and reached, getting a grip on me, before gradually lifting me upwards. As they pulled me up, I noticed that there were looks of concern, rather than annoyance or humor on their faces.

“Shi Gu Lam,” I said, saying the only words I knew in Shumarian.

They replied in kind, although why they thanked me for saving me was beyond me. Some cultural custom, I supposed. I skirted around the hole, and we pressed onwards. I struggled to maintain my concentration, jumping between magical and physical vision. I couldn’t really focus on either, but I hoped it would be enough to be able to notice any anomalies.

At the other end of the circular room was another corridor. It was quite narrow, only large enough for us to walk in double file. As we padded down the corridor, I noticed in my magical vision wells of magic just behind both walls. We hadn’t triggered the magic yet, and I identified it to be some sort of heating spell. 

“Stop,” I called out, and Sivir quickly relayed the instructions.

Everybody stood stock still while I examined the corridor. There, by the end of it, a tiny silver line of magic that ran across it. A metaphysical tripwire. I pointed vaguely gestured towards the area, and explained that there was an invisible tripwire there. Sivir translated, and I demonstrated how to safely get over it.

The others who followed behind me greatly exaggerated the movements, not wanting to get caught at all. We got through the corridor safely, until I when I stepped forwards, the tile beneath my foot sunk down slightly. I was still viewing the world through magical eyes, and I didn’t see anything happen. Switching back into physical view, there didn’t seem to be anything either.

“Careful, Ezreal. I would back away from that tile if I were you,” Sivir urgently spoke.

I got the message, hopping off of the tile and running back towards the group as quickly as I could. Several long seconds passed, and nothing happened. Several more seconds passed, and still nothing happened. Convinced that nothing had been set off, I began to step forwards again, but Sivir put an arm on me. The other mercenaries patiently waited, watching the tile intently. I switched back into magical view, but nothing had changed. 

“I don’t see anything magical,” I said, but Sivir shook her head.

We continued to wait. I thought that it was perfectly possible that any potential spot over that tile could have potentially malfunctioned, if there was a trap on it, or simply that there was never a trap in the first place. However, it seemed that nobody agreed with me. I respected the others’ opinions, since they had been doing this much longer than me, but I grew frustrated. 

A small hourglass sat in Sivir’s palm. As far as I could tell, it was not magically enchanted or enhanced in any way, so I presumed that she was using it to determine when it would be safe to move on. The grains of sand in the hourglass moved agonizingly slowly, spelling out the time in the dullest way possible.

Everybody watched the hourglass, not daring to move, until the glass grain of sand plinked against the glass bottom of the hourglass. Sivir nodded, apparently fine with moving on, and we walked forwards. Walking over the tile, nothing happened, and I tried to stifle my annoyance. No traps, nothing had happened. It was pretty clear to me- why hadn’t they listened?

I let Sivir take the lead, given her greater experience, and focused on my Summoner’s Orb again. Reaching out my magical awareness, I noted that there was a large well of magic that suddenly popped up beneath us. Was it the amulet? There was something magically precious down there, of that I was sure. The magical signature was not one of a trap, given how it was arranged in the shape of a perfect sphere.

Trapped energy that could be set off was wild and volatile, but this energy was perfectly shaped, indicating that it was bonded to some item. Furthermore, I had never seen golden magic harm anyone before. Gold indicated consciousness and summoning. Summoning could potentially be a problem, but summoning took time and a magical power source, of which there were none nearby.

“There’s something magically valuable beneath us,” I said.

After a quick translation from Sivir, the men got straight to work. They cleared a large area, and then empowered their weapons, rapidly striking the ground. The floor was probably made of magically reinforced sandstone, as their progress was decidedly slow. After several minutes of chipping away, they finally reached a distance about half a meter deep. 

The mercenaries kept clear of the hole they were digging, in case they fell down into a room and got injured, so the rate at which they dug at the hole was slower than it should have been. Suddenly, when a piece of sandstone was chipped away, a shaft of bright light came out of a gap in the floor.

The men gasped and Sivir smiled. More of the sandstone was quickly removed, and a rope was tied so that we could get into the lower chamber one by one. I went down after Sivir, finding that the room we were in was similar to the circular one from before, but much larger. 

Behind us was a large coffin, with multiple jewels and other valuables embedded in it. Various riches adorned the walls, including silk carpets, golden goblets and beautiful sandstone carvings. All of this was easily worth several lifetimes’ pay for me, I guessed. In the center of this sepulcher was a floating amulet, the source of the room’s light. 

The amulet was bright blue, spherical in shape without any designs on it. Something drew me to it, and as the mercenaries around me looted the spoils of this room, I reached out and touched the amulet. Shivers instantly ran down my spine.

At long last... a voice echoed in my mind. Not sinister in sound, but distinctly feminine. 

I withdrew my hand, surprised at what had just happened. I looked around, and instinctively knew that nobody had heard the voice. The amulet would be the only thing that Khepri would have been able to place in the tomb. Was the voice hers?

Curious, I touched the amulet again. Just hold on a minute, it will soon be over, the voice said. “What will?” I thought. Then, a searing pain ran through my arm, and I felt it stiffen. The pain spread through the rest of my body, and I began seeing stars. My whole body stiffened, and I fell to the floor, rigid. 

Cries of alarm came out, and I still clutched the amulet in my left arm. Not much longer now, the voice continued, and my left arm burned in pain. The amulet sunk into the flesh of my palm, destroying the center of my hand and embedding itself there. More pain rippled through my body, and I screamed out.

The others could do nothing as they watched me on the floor, thrashing about. Red and black flashed through my eyes, and then the pain intensified more. Relax, your hand is healing now, the voice said soothingly.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I asked.

To my surprise, the voice replied, Healing hurts, but do not worry, the worst is over. I groaned, but true enough, the pain quickly began to lessen. Within seconds, I was back to normal, save for the amulet embedded in my palm. It continued to shine with explosive light, and I tenderly touched the amulet.

It didn’t move or budge as I touched it. The mercenaries began to surround me, anxiously looking at me in fear. Their eyes drawn to my glowing hand, I uncomfortably lowered it. Sivir watched from a distance, eyes thoughtfully watching. Unsure of what to do, I said: “I’m fine, no need to worry.”

The mercenaries listened to my calm tone and visibly relaxed. They all believed in the supernatural, but they weren’t about to believe that I was possessed. You better take cover, the voice called out, and I looked around the room in confusion.

“Careful,” I said, and Sivir quickly translated. Suddenly wary, we all jumped in fear when our stomachs lurched.

Without the amulet, the pyramid falls. I will do what I can to ensure your safety, but no guarantees, the voice said. 

“The pyramid’s falling. Take cover, make your last wishes, oh bloody Void,” I cried out, realizing that the voice spoke the truth.

There was no time to translate, and we hit the ground. The jarring impact knocked me out, and I watched helplessly as my vision faded.

***

Ezreal... Ezreal... wake up Ezreal... EZREAL! the voice cried out, and my eyes snapped open. From the amulet’s light, I could faintly see through the darkness, and knew that I was surrounded by rubble. Ruins of the fallen pyramid surrounded me, encasing me in a dark tomb.

“What happened?”, I asked the voice, “How am I not injured? Where is everybody else?”

We’ve got time, and I’ll start with an introduction. I am a fragment of Khepri’s soul, placed in this amulet to live on for all eternity. She chose the politicking, seductress elements of herself to inhabit this amulet, so here I am. Unfortunately, there’s not much I can do in this amulet except communicate with the bearer and make certain things happen. Oh, and you can call me Pearl.

“That sounded pretty scripted,” I said drily, unsure of where Pearl was going with this.

Hey! I had a couple thousand of years to think of something to say, just let me have my moment, will you? Pearl harumphed indignantly. 

“That doesn’t make what you did any better,” I replied, chuckling internally.

Anyways, I’ll move on with my ‘scripted’ speech. This next part might be slightly disorienting, but I’ll do my best to keep it quick. I’m just going to scan the contents of your brain, so we’re on the same page, okay? Pearl said.

“Wait, how did you know my name if you haven’t scanned my brain?” I wondered.

Well, I can easily pick up surface thoughts. If I really tried, I could probably pick up the surface thoughts of people other than you. But that’s besides the point. Just hold on a second, and don’t panic if things start seeming weird...

Suddenly, my vision went dark. A faint light swung back and forth, haunting in nature. It grew closer, and I instinctively backed away from it. Then, it consumed my vision. I was an infant, loved dearly by my parents. I was still an infant, slain by the Dark Lord Voldemort. 

Void. Things that I do not remember, things that should not be remembered, a black evil that stretched across the world. My soul, drifting, fleeing, panicking. A light, a gap in this deadly reality, an escape. Light filled my vision again. The rest of my life played out, certain moments- killing, graduation, slowed down. Events didn’t play out in temporal order. They jumped around. 

The events accelerated, the moments blurring and flashing faster than I could keep track off. How fast could Pearl do this? What was Pearl even doing? Key moments flashed up, slowed down and examined. She zoomed into random details, elements that I couldn’t follow showing up, and then it was over.

I felt slightly woozy, nausea washing over me. Several minutes passed, before I realized I was still trapped beneath a pyramid.

“Pearl, how in the world am I supposed to get out of here?” I asked.

There was no response. I looked down, and saw that the amulet on my left palm was still glowing. What had happened? The rubble around me completely trapped me, leaving me no way to escape, or even move very much. I tentatively tried to push against various pieces of sandstone, but nothing budged.

There was no way I could move all of this with magic. I had already pushed myself to the limit with the teleportation, and it would be hours before I would even be able to attempt something similar. 

Sorry, Ezreal. I am still trying to process everything that you just showed me. Saving you and the others from certain death when the tomb fell made me even weaker than usual. I think there may have been some permanent damage done when I overextended myself there. Pearl finally responded. Her voice was halting and uncertain.

“So I’m just supposed to wait here and die while you think about my life?” I asked, growing frustrated.

Again, there was no response. I sighed, and tried to relax. Ever since my experience in the sewers of Piltover, I had become mildly claustrophobic. Now, I felt the consequences of that as I tensed up. The walls seemed to close in on me, the air becoming unbearably heavy. I wheezed, trying to take in air.

I knew there was nothing wrong with the air (or at least, I hoped I did), and that this was all a mental reaction. Magic was all about controlling reality with one’s mind, but I couldn’t even manage my own body. There was no way I could get myself out of this situation until I got myself sorted out, or Pearl decided to help out.

I am trying to help, Pearl muttered, but I need to get this done first. Just be patient, will you.

The last words echoed in my mind. The sounded like honey, so sweet. Her words intoxicated me, and I felt myself gradually relaxing. Was this the seductress element that she had talked about? I found myself not caring at all.

Just a few moments later, I felt Pearl stir. It was awkward, having somebody who could read your thoughts, and being able to read somebody else’s thoughts. Of course, I still hadn’t quite mastered that, and while the division between Pearl and I was pretty stark, I couldn’t help but feel creeped out by how much Pearl knew about me.

Eventually, Pearl seemed to finish up with whatever she had been doing. She turned her attention towards me, and spoke.

Ezreal, the amulet that is now permanently attached to you has the ability to solidify magic, given a well or power source. All you need to do is focus on the magical aspect of the amulet and your end-goal, and the amulet should do the rest. Pearl said.

I wasn’t quite sure how this would help, but I tried it anyways. It was difficult maintaining focus on two abstract concepts at the same time, and I struggled for several minutes to pull it on. Pearl didn’t seem to have any advice for me on this. 

Finally, I stumbled on the way to do it. Although my concentration wasn’t perfect, I managed to produce corporeal white matter that fired off in a thin line towards the wall. It bored into the wall briefly before running out of energy and dissipating.

That’s the way to do it, Pearl said approvingly, but I’m afraid that you’ll be in here for several hours if you don’t find a more efficient way to clear the rubble. Try this.

The image of a bolt composed of mystic material flashed into my head. Mystic material in physical form was grey, powerful and extremely hard to create. However, the amulet would supposedly take care of the creation aspect. Once again, I focused on the dual concepts.

It took just slightly less time this time, and a grey shot formed in my hands. I formed it into a lengthier object, and then fired it. The shot was just wider than my arm, and probably as long as I was tall. It created a significantly larger hole in the rubble, and I nodded, satisfied with my work. Then, I noticed that my magical reserves, or mana as most called it, were running low.

“How in the world do mages even fight? I always seem to run out of mana after two or three spells.” I asked, hoping that Pearl would have an answer.

When I was Khepri, I initially ran into the same problem. The only real way to fix it is to use more spells. You’ll gradually gain larger reserves with experience. I’m guessing you haven’t done a lot of practical work, huh? Pearl replied snarkily.

I ignored her, and waited for my reserves to come back. The entire process took several hours, as I intermittently blasted holes in the rubble, crawled forwards, and waited. Pearl seemed content humming away, but she had waited for millennia. I didn’t really have quite the same patience as her, and was bored out of my wits.

Oddly enough, I didn’t feel any signs of hunger or thirst, despite the long amounts of time that I had spent without food or drink. Suddenly, after one of my mystic bolts penetrated through more sandstone, I saw another tunnel. The markings on the side of the wall, deep ruts and gouges, reminded me of something, although I couldn’t remember what. No monster could feasibly have entered the pyramid since it crashed, right?

You’ve got a mighty bad eye for a Grand Master Explorer, Ezreal. Those markings match the ones made by the mercenaries when they were carving down the doors. I’m guessing that since I unintentionally separated everybody from you, they got out this way, Pearl admonished.

I continued down the passageway, glad that I no longer had to carve out a path for myself. Hopefully, everybody else would be alright, and I trusted that they would be able to handle themselves. However, I still had to find them. Without Sivir and the rest of the mercenaries, I could easily wander the desert until I died of dehydration. Hopefully, this path would lead me to them.

As I traveled down the passageway, a light appeared. Gradually, the light at the end of the tunnel began to brighten. Sunlight.


	5. Arc 1: Legacy (1.4)

The world is shockingly bright when you think about it, and out in the desert, the radiant sun shone straight across the skies and into my eyes, searing them with rapid pain. I blinked a few times, to clear my vision, and then looked out. Ruins lay around me, scattered cracked pieces of the tomb lying cracked.

I couldn’t make out anybody, but sets of footprints, freshly made headed off towards a fallen archway, so I headed off that way. After a few minutes of following the footprints, I sensed something behind me, and turned my head. Three mercenaries stood, their weapons drawn, and I instinctively stepped back.

“Take the crystal,” Zino growled, his pike already glowing with menace.

He leapt forwards, and the others followed suit, heading straight for my arm. Use the mystic shot! Pearl cried out, and I concentrated as I scampered backwards, a white light growing in my palm.

The mercenaries hesitated, and it was enough time for me to release the bolt at the man at the left. He was unarmored, and the attack pierced straight into his flesh, leaving a thin gouge where I had hit his shoulder. The man howled in agony, charging forwards, and his comrades followed, wishing to avenge him.

I sprinted off, collecting more energy, and formed it into another mystic shot. I fired it at Zino this time, but he didn’t even flinch as he charged through the bolt. It dissipated weakly against his armor, although I thought that it looked frailer. They soon caught up to me, and I was pinned against a crumbling wall, three pikes pointed at my neck.

Their bright glow caused me to squint at them, and Zino pointed his pike down at my left arm, where the amulet lay embedded. I tried to withdraw my arm, but Zino replied by moving his blade closer to my arm. The heat from it seared my flesh, and I bit back my reflex to call out in pain.

“Where’s Sivir?” I inquired, hoping that she wasn’t behind this.

“Gone long enough for us to take this gem,” Zino replied heartily, eyes greedily staring at the amulet.

The two mercenaries beside him were impatient, and one of them accidentally moved his pike too close as I felt a small stream of blood begin to trickle down from my stomach. Focus on teleporting your body, Pearl called out to me. It was a good idea, but I couldn’t summon the strength to do so.

The pike inched closer, and I wasn’t sure why Zino was wavering. He seemed like a hardened man, one who wouldn’t be fazed by something as minor as a little child’s arm, and yet he hesitated. Perhaps he knew that the Institute of War would seek justice for one of their Summoners?

Regardless, the extra moment gave me the strength that I needed, and with a flash of yellow light, I blinked far behind the wall, leaving a trail of golden dust in my wake. I began to sprint again as the mercenaries vaulted over the wall, hot on my heels. They didn’t dare to harm me significantly, in case the amulet was damaged, but they were still willing to use force.

I picked narrow routes, twisting and turning through centuries-old chambers, the harsh sandstone walls looking increasingly familiar. The steady beat of the mercenaries were never far behind, only a corner or two away from catching me, and in the end, I couldn’t give them the slip. 

One of the mercenaries darted forwards, pike cleaving through a wall I had snaked around, and I found myself pinned on all sides by the three mercenaries once again. Without talking, two of them held me down while Zino began the operation. Raising his pike up to my left wrist, he gripped it so tightly that it began to shake in his hands.

The pike began to glow in intensity, the heat becoming even greater than anything I had previously seen him manage. My flesh felt like it was literally burning as this happened, and I cried out loud, drawing a sadistic snicker from the men. I could still feel my hand, however, and right as Zino was about to slice downwards and sever my hand, a voice rang out.

“Stop!” Sivir hollered, and I could see her figure just meters away, boomerang blade raised.

The boomerang, too, glowed menacingly, as if it were about to fly out and strike at us at any given moment. I had never seen it lighted, and now I could see why she was considered such a deadly marksman. The mercenaries, realizing that they had revealed their hand too early, began to back off. They were capable fighters, but champions of the League of Legends were renowned for fighting armies on their own.

I didn’t quite relax just yet, but was nonetheless relieved at Sivir coming. Checking my mana reserves, I didn’t quite have enough for another blink, and knew I would have been screwed for sure there. 

“Get out, now. The three of you aren’t getting a share of the profits and will never work with me again, understand?” Sivir spoke quietly. 

The three of them nodded, scowls appearing on their faces, and they turned to leave, only to realize they too were lost among the ruins. Sivir nodded, as if expecting this to happen, and helped me up and then turned to leave. I followed behind her, glancing nervously beside me every once in a while, expecting the mercenaries to pull something while I wasn’t paying attention.

They followed a distance behind us, cowed and scared of the consequences. Sivir’s stride was confident and sure, as if she knew exactly where to go, and while my sense of direction was usually impeccable, I had to admit I was slightly lost at this point. I had tried my best to lose the mercenaries, and therefore lost track of where I was.

Gradually, as we exited the fallen ruins, where only a few scattered pieces of marble wall lay, I relaxed. The rest of the mercenaries had set up camp outside, and they were standing, anxiously looking out. Most of them seemed to instantly understand what happened, just by judging the distance between Sivir, me and the three mercenaries, and they tossed the three’s stuff at them when they approached the camp.

Everybody watched silently as Zino and the other two, humiliated, carried their possessions on their back and walked off into the desert. It wasn’t until they crossed the horizon that conversation slowly began to trickle and begin. I couldn’t understand, but it was good to know that the mercenaries I was with now were at least slightly more trustworthy than the ones I had just fought.

We weren’t planning to stay until nightfall, however, and soon packed up after a quick meal. Mounted on our horses, I was only loosely tied up, and we began to ride, when a loud cry sounded off in the distance. They came from the open desert, the opposite side of the ruins, thirty or so men riding horses and bellowing war cries.

They wielded massive clubs and other weapons, and charged at us. Within seconds, we grouped up and formed a loose battle formation, with Sivir at the lead. It was similar to the one they had used when they entered the village an eternity ago, and I had the privileged spot of sitting right behind Sivir. 

Slipping into my magical view, I saw that there seemed to be no mages in the group. I informed Sivir, and she laughed. I didn’t know why, but decided not to ask. Ask why you guys are staying to fight, Pearl said, and I shrugged internally, and decided that her question made sense.

“Sivir, why not ride away? Wouldn’t your aura allow us to get away safely without risking the loot?” I inquired.

“The mercenaries are getting restless, as you saw, and it will be good for them to shed some blood. Besides, these are local tribesmen who are looking to protect their local monuments, we’ll have no trouble dealing with them,” Sivir hastily replied, eyes scanning over the tribesmen.

The two armies rode at each other, weapons pointed at each other, and then when we were mere seconds from colliding, we erupted into a roar that sounded much louder than the tribesmen could ever have mustered, despite our fewer numbers. Sivir’s blade glowed brightly, and she flung it as it spun into the opposing army, slicing into numerous men who cried out in pain, before returning to her hand.

Then, the armies collided. Men screamed in pain and ferocity, slicing and hacking desperately at each other. Several were impaled in the initial impact, while others were dismounted by poor horsemanship or other causes. Blades and clubs swung wildly, and I concentrated on generating mystical bolts, and flinging them at vulnerable targets.

A close-by man charged at me, orienting his horse at me, and I fired a bolt straight at his head. It hit, and blood spurted from his face, a deep cut forming there. He screamed in rage, continuing to head for me, and I desperately tried to create another bolt. Essence formed in my hand and then dissipated. 

Behind you! Pearl cried out, and I spun my horse around, seeing another tribesman trying to strike out at me. I fired what little essence I had at him, a more spread essence flux, and like a dozen pellets, they tore into his skin, causing him to fall in agony. I retreated, letting a mercenary take my place at the front lines.

Sivir was a beast, with six blades going in the air at once. They cleaved into the enemy forces where it was most necessary, and then she managed to bring out a seventh blade. Her body whirled as she danced on top of her mount, a veritable maelstrom that nobody dared to face.

The pulses from her body were bright blue, but the vigor only affected our allies. We recouped, and charged again, using our momentum to push down the enemies. Scattered despite their larger numbers, the resulting clean-up was quick. In just a few short minutes, the fight was over.

Most of the tribesmen were injured, although few were actually dead, and we rounded them up, slaughtering their horses before riding off into the desert. It was only polite to leave those who had managed to survive to remain as unharmed as they were. The honor of the desert people was something that I didn’t quite understand, but I didn’t pretend to, either.

It was something that I would have to spend more time to learn, I supposed. The adrenaline of the fight hadn’t quite left us yet, and we were a bloodthirsty bunch. It was good fortune that we did not run across a village at that time, as we would surely have raided and torched it to the ground at that point.

The glory of our success stayed with me the whole day as we rode outwards, past the same endless scenery. Meanwhile, Pearl tried to instruct me, to teach me how to better manipulate and use the amulet. I could hardly concentrate on her lessons of constructing barriers, and the small yellow shields that formed around me quickly broke under the flying sand as we sped through the desert.

Still, it was progress, and Pearl decided that she would have to settle for it. Soon, the sky began to turn dark, and it would soon be night. We stopped abruptly, and I almost fell off my horse with the rate at which the horse decelerated. Two brave mercenaries had died in that fight, a risk that came with the job, and we gave them a grave funeral ceremony.

First, a large bonfire was constructed, which led me to believe that dinner would be cooked, but when the bodies were brought out, I quickly realized better. They were then thoroughly wrapped up in cloth, and then various ointments were rubbed on their bodies. Next, an amulet was hung on each of their necks.

They both looked like ancient mummies, which was what they were supposed to look like, I later learned, and the mercenaries’ pikes were placed on their bodies. Then, we solemnly marched, carrying their bodies up to the funeral pyre, before placing their bodies into the flames. 

We all watched silently as two more of our group left us, slowly burning into the night. I wasn’t sure how, but even the pikes burned by the time the ceremony was over, and all that was left was a few pieces of charred ash to signify that the men had existed. It was then that I realized just how much we as a group had bonded together in the past few days.

War brought out the best and worst in men, and I felt that I had just experienced a minute part of that. By then, it was well into then night, and the moon shone high above, barely illuminating us. The cold bit into my extremities as we quickly consumed our dinner, and then it was back to the tents.

I wasn’t sure what this night would bring after the last. When I entered the tent, I saw that Sivir was once again clad in her nightwear, a form-fitting bra and bottom piece, without any of her usual armor. I was still dressed in my summoner’s robes, and I lay down on my side of the tent to rest, trying my best to ignore the person beside me.

“Ezreal, I’d like to compensate for what happened to you today,” Sivir softly spoke to me.

I perked up instantly, imagining possibilities, but dismissed them as quickly as they came. I rolled over, our faces nearly touching, before she pulled at my robes. I silently gulped, unsure of what she was going at, but when she had fully stripped off my robes, leaving me in my underwear, I had taken off her bra. 

Getting rowdy, aren’t we, Pearl said, and I sensed that she was somehow smiling. “Is this the seductress element of you coming out?” I asked, and she replied with another mischievous grin.

Her full breasts spilled out for me to see, distracting me, and I lay for several seconds astounded, unsure of how anybody could have anything so full and so firm. Sivir grinned in the night at me, tugging at my boxers, before I reached out and caressed her breasts. Their warmth felt so nice, so comfortable, and I yearned for more. 

Then, I felt warmth by my cock as she cupped my balls, and she rubbed my cock. I felt her nipples gradually stiffen underneath my touches, and then I took off her bottom. I saw her clean-shaven pussy, slightly damp from arousal, and she pressed closer against me. Lost in lust, I pressed back, my semi-erect cock pressing against her vagina.

She moaned, clearly wanting more, and I wrapped my arms around her, thrusting into her. Of course, there was no hymen, and I went clean in. My cock quickly expanded to full length and girth within her, and my arms roamed down, cupping her sweet ass. We kissed fully, tongues battling for dominance, and when we both broke for air, I began to thrust quicker into her.

She bucked against me, helping me slide deeper into her. We kissed again, and I squeezed her ass. She moaned in my mouth, and I made a similar noise as the two of us continued to make love. I increased the pace of my movements as I became more frantic, anxious to get the release that had been the cumulation of days of teasing.

Sivir seemed to realize this, and taunted me, squeezing my cock with her pussy walls, until I simply couldn’t hold it in anymore. I spilled my seed into her, my cock limp in her, and she orgasmed as well, shuddering rapidly against me, and then she slumped, limp as well. I kissed her tenderly, fondling her hot body.

“I’ll be sure to put in a good word during Elections for you,” Sivir whispered in my ear, and I smiled.

Elections were when roles for the upcoming year was decided. Depending on how the Institute of War, your fellow Summoners, and the Champions rated you, you could get any type of job, from Main Summoner to Diplomat to Tax Enforcer. To be a Summoner on the fields of justice was every Summoner’s dream, including mine, and I hoped that this would be my ticket during my first year at the Institute.

“I hope I get paired with you, then,” I responded, and Sivir giggled, squeezing my limp member.

Do you really, Pearl asked, and I replied positively back to her. She seemed to find this amusing for some reason, and I found it disturbing that one of the best moments in my life had just been shared with a third person who I knew even less well than Sivir.

The rest of the night was spent uneventfully, as I drifted off into sleep.


End file.
